"televisions" poems
I am no longer the
Steady thrum of heartbeats
When issues against women are
Comically displayed on televisions.
Like there's something to
Laugh, guffaw, snicker, snort--
Tell you what, I can name a little
Too many synonymous words
And I can slap them all to your face, too.
I am no longer a suppressed voice,
Unable to tell you and all the other people
That as a girl (and a woman, later),
I have the right to be here.
I have the same rights to life,
To be alive, to be secure,
To have a good life!
And yet, you, who calls yourself a
Man of power, tells me,
"You are nothing."
I am angry with the absurdity
Of it all. Men continuing to abuse,
Women constantly cowering down--
Why are you so intent on showing power
When you are not God?
Why are you so afraid of fighting
For yourself?
I am seething with rage
For those who refuse to accept
Feminism just for the reason
That they do not want to be labeled--
Well, guess what? They have already
Shoved you underneath Weak and Submissive.
Who taught you that you are born
To impress men?
Who taught you that you only exist
To please them?
I will not have any of that ****
I am a person of my own.
I am a human being, with rights.
And I AM FIGHTING to have
The same rights as you do.
Whoever told you that that's
Never gonna happen, can shove it up
Their *****
I will not sit still on my chair while
The next police officer
Asks "Well, what were you wearing?"
To the next **** victim.
You and I both know that is not
The issue here.
No girl should hung their head in shame
That they got touched without consent.
It's not their fault! No one
Deserves to be *****
And no, it's not snuggling, for you who
Even thought **** jokes on t-shirts
Are funny. It's not.
I am for Gender Equality.
For both men and women,
Gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender,
To be treated with equal respect.
With equal opportunities.
With equality.
With no judgment.
Why must you counter that?
Look, I've been sitting in that same chair
For too long while issues spread and get
Larger like the plague.
I thought, let them handle it.
I thought, a small voice would be of no help.
But when did sitting down and staring
Get people somewhere?
When did any of passivity help us?
We already have everything to lose
So why not fight?
Bruce Banner told the other avengers
The secret of Hulk.
And I tell you the same:
Get angry.
Smash inequality.
I will always be right behind you.
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
Lollipops to cigarettes
Cooties turned to pregnancy
The cute little girls and boys we once knew at recess are no more, some are drop outs, some are on the news for ****** and others have seemed to disappear from existence
How did this happen?
How did the life we knew so well as children, filled with jump rope and four square, turn into the monstrosity of modern society
The drama now is about boys, drugs, and flunking school, the only so called 'drama' back then was when someone else had the blue crayon you needed to finish your color by number
Computers, televisions, and phones take over the lives of children nowadays, the big pass times when we were kids was to go back in the woods behind our houses and catch salamander, play hide and seek and cops and robbers when it started to get dark
Now?
It's lying to your parents to go out and get drunk, skipping class to go smoke **** and and turning the lollipop in your mouth into a cigarette
Did you ever consider that the lollipop tastes better? That maybe this sticky strawberry mess gives you a better outlook on life?
When you're a kid and you're happy with your crayons and hopscotch you don't care what problems you're faced with: if someones lost; find them, if someone's feelings are hurt; say sorry, if you wanna lose weight; lose it
This lollipop of yours has turned an upside-down world right-side-up again creating brighter perspectives and healthier pass times
So instead of curling our fingers around disgusting cancer sticks and pregnancy tests, maybe we should grab hold of that lollipops taste and lever let go...so the only downfall to life, is cavities.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 4:32 PM UTC
Some holding out their hope
Others giving up their dead,
Some believing miracles,
More prefering risk-free will.
Some expecting disappointment
Find regret instead,
Some wait for Luck's return
In broken pieces, still.
Some in line against the wall
Wait with vacant eyes,
Some with kids who won't shut up
Just look down and sigh,
Far too many end their days
The way we first arrive.
Dead hopes and broken miracles,
Our televisions thrive.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 5:06 PM UTC
It was a lovely afternoon
When I felt dizzy and soon
Started to feel as if my chair's moving
I looked up at the pendant hanging
Freely and also dancing
Back and forth
It wasn't just me who was moved
It was the earth and the whole building hoofed
Back and forth
One slip of plate
And it moved the whole earth.
It was mild
I hoped it won't go wild
Calling for my loved ones
I ran to the ground
People hustling, steps making a panic sound
From the eighth floor I felt it stopped
But as if it read my mind, earth again rocked
More than I've ever felt before
We all hustled downstairs in case it got wilder more
Old people, children running,
Mothers, scared, panicked, scooting.
Down the building everyone waited
Till the earth slowy bated
And stopped in a sudden motion
We were glad it wasn't that strong
Back to home, we all scurried
Switched on our televisions in a hurry.
Though the earth was soft on us
There were places where everything was crushed,
Homes, offices, families destroyed
Everything because of simple but strong
Back and forth
What is happening in the world?
Is it the human being which the earth loaths?
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:40 AM UTC
Out the window the trees go by fast.
Never having the chance to know one
even by the looks of it.
The houses pass by quick and
the people in them never move.
There is no time to see what's on their televisions.
Drive by the Dennisville Lake and my eyes
are fixed on the egrets drying in the branches
of the trees at least half a mile out.
There's a beach in the distance where
the sun sets and it's more than picturesque.
Years ago, this is where I first learned to ice skate,
*but now the lakes blocked off with guardrails,
I'm on a busy road, and there's no turning back.*
-s.r.pikulinski
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
Happens every other day
Feelings of guilt as a wasteful being
Rearrange brain function
Monopolizing firing synapses
Recycle, reuse
Regurgitating, dull whitted infomercials
All wanting you to buy, buy, buy
Sure you could use another sharp knife
Maybe even a blender
On special now buy one get one free
A kitchen already full of utensils that you don't use
Caught up in McMonsantoland's corporate sponsorship
Frankenburgers all around
Cancer is the cure
Picking you off one by one
Genocide
Intelligence retardant children growing up in front of CIA bugged televisions
They know your patterns, habits, what makes you tick
Big Brother is watching all of you be enslaved
In the end your box will be numbered
Eight humans deep
Stacked high along the streets of America
Guiding the way to the ****** sunset of our existence
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 8:02 PM UTC
Dead fish do not move.
They lay there,
Dead.
Dead fish do not breathe,
They lay there,
Dead.
Dead fish do not speak.
They lay there,
Dead.
But the dead fish do wander.
They wander around fish heaven,
Or fish hell.
Dead fish's minds, lasting longer than their physical bodies do,
Explore crevices of the universe that people aren't even familiar with.
Well, at least not people from Earth.
Dead fish not only wander, but they do this thing that sounds like wander and is spelled like wander but is called "wonder."
Their minds forever wonder about things.
Like seaweed, ah the good ol' days of eating seaweed.
Or maybe dead fish wonder about what life is like now that they are gone.
They might wonder if it's raining, or if it's sunny.
But they're fish, so what the hell matters if it's raining or sunny?
You see, dead fish also do this thing.
It sounds much like wander and wonder but it's different.
The thing is "nothing."
Well, I assume "nothing" would sound like the words "wander" and "wonder" to a dead fish.
Considering dead fish can do nothing.
They just lay there,
Dead.
But we are not dead fish.
We are alive people, well at least some of us.
We can do things.
Like ride a rollercoaster, or eat a sandwich.
We can watch televisions shows probably longer than most other human beings can.
We can write poetry books that only five and a half people will read.
(One of those hits home for this author.)
We can go out and live lives livelier than those dead fish.
We can live for those dead fish.
We can wander and wonder and do nothing all at the same time.
We are all given life to live and lives to breathe life into.
Alive humans and dead fish.
At one point in time, we all have the opportunity to be someone who does something maybe even with somebody.
Alive humans and dead fish.
Dead humans and alive fish.
Alive humans and alive fish.
Dead human and dead fish.
Creatures have beautiful and blank canvases on which they can spill beautiful masterpieces on.
Or even blank masterpieces.
It just depends on who you're asking to paint you a picture.
An alive human, or a dead fish.
Both have some type of story to tell.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to sleep in a bed with no sheets in the corner of an empty airline hanger.
Eating ***** is oblivion to millions,
regardless of politics.
I don't cry when I watch the evening news.
Pictures from my 4th birthday party,
when I turned 3,
make me cry...
...for 1 spermatozoa.
When my co-creators' closed eyelids told me my grandfather had finally passed,
I remembered that I forgot how to make Mac & Cheese.
Time runs on batteries.
But when machines grow to match us,
they will one day pass a law against the consumption of sentient planets.
Still,
some will do it anyway.
And even if they have televisions in space,
I still won't cry.
Because we are all machines.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 6:01 PM UTC
I don't want to be here.
I feel it in my mouth
Like a drink I can't
Bring myself to swallow.
An uneasy feeling
When I meet flashing eyes
And see lips curl in a sneer.
I don't like these people.
They don't much like me either.
Flat-screen televisions blare nonsense
Consumers bustle in
Sell sell sell
Buy buy buy.
Sniffs of disapproval
A burly manager with his finger in my face
This is how it is to be done
No personality
No individuality
Sell sell sell.
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 11:02 AM UTC
If I ruled the world things would be this way:
The Hunger Games would be watched every single day,
Tomorrow When The War Began would be listened to and read,
While others choose to have the figurines next to thier beds,
John Marsden and Suzanne Collins would be the best known authors,
And mothers would go out to dinner once a month with just their daughters.
I would be a rich and famous actor and a poet,
Ellie, Julia and Taylor have talent and I know it,
I just need to figure out the best way for them to show it,
Maybe in acting, writing or singing,
I have no ideas for my bell they are not ringing.
I would stop all war and poverty,
And everyone would have the same amount of property,
I would even out the money for every country,
And have all my fruit and veg hard and crunchy,
Our world would be a multi-cultural, accepting all religions,
One day I would get rid of all televisions.
Swimming would be a sport at school as well as cheerleading and diving,
But everyone would have to take lessons in surviving,
And every day my hair would be curled,
All of this would happen if I ruled the world.
written by maegan cattermull
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 9:56 PM UTC
Take my hand, friend
just for a sec-
let's leave this ****** land of
SATs, PSATs, APs,
and college admission essays and guidance counselors
and homework and pop quizzes and exams and whatever else-
behind.
Let's be two again.
Let's make Pringle-chip-duck faces
and grin with orange peel smiles-
I'll paint my nails yellow and we'll read Dr. Seuss with British accents
in the dimming light of the old
falling-down fort of pillows and blankets (that's almost too small for us)
Let's pretend
Let's pretend
Let's pretend
That we've never seen the glowing screen of
televisions, computers, IPods,
that we haven't spent weeks wearing down our thumbs on text messages.
Let's forget fights over boys that weren't even all that hot.
Let's sit in my yard and eat raw cookie dough behind my momma's back
And make too-sweet fresh lemonade, and blow dandelions
(into other neighbor's yards, of course)
Spray garden hoses at each other
and laugh and scream and giggle and make mud-pies.
Let's make twenty different secret handshakes,
Eat wild raspberries and hide sticky fingers
And pinky promise- again and again- BFFs forever.
Let's lose ourselves in the bliss of childhood
just one more time- please.
Just in case Peter Pan decides to visit.
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 7:40 PM UTC
Hashtag:weirddreams
In a dream I looked upon a world like this;
The future was here. It was today. It was now and
the wings on birds had malted, and
the atmosphere was spent.
Spent, because currency had proven
worthless.
Hashtag:firstworldprobs
(piles
on top of
piles of washingtonsjeffersonsandgrants now sat
stagnant, Hashtag:getmoney
devalued over time by the American glutton who had paved our roads with imported plastic,
cheap polymers to build empires quickly, since we were so young with so little history so little culture and so little ritual. Hashtag:omgsoboring.
We played catch-up
by simply investing very little effort,
and paying very little respect,
With expectations of getting really *******
Big). Hashtag:sorrynotsorry
Which didn’t end up working. Hashtag:whoops
And so then we just burned up all that money, quite literally, ignited by the last few drops of oil we could manage to squeeze from Earth’s stones.
And its smoke, smelling faintly of our forefathers’ intentions, turned the turbines for our televisions and deep fryers while we sat and felt ourselves getting smaller and smaller.
Then I woke up, and realized it was only a dream.
Hashtag:
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
Garden Parkway YMCA
Dallas, Texas
22 November 1963
Darling Sophie,
Could it be only two months since I let your fingers slip from my hand as that train departed Voronezh station? I fear that this trip was a great mistake. . . .
The boat sailed from Sevastopol as scheduled. Just two days and we were through the Bosporus/Dardanelles and into the incredibly blue Aegean and the Mediterranean. On September 27 we passed Gibraltar and started the long haul across the Atlantic. The work was not demanding though the ship was quite ***** and not really very pleasant.
We docked at Houston in the state of Texas on October 9. Defecting was surprisingly easy. There was supposed to be work in Dallas so I walked/hitch-hiked here last month. But I have not been able to find any work.
The people here, though friendly, are coarse and brash. The stores overflow with televisions, record players, mink coats, but there are many very poor people here too...
The great American leader, Kennedy, was shot and killed today, driving in his open-topped car along the streets of this very city.
My money is gone; my strength, exhausted. How blithely I left you and Russia behind! I feel my lips brushing the tiny hairs on the back of your neck, your ******* swelling. . . . Sophie! May you know great happiness and love! I only ask that in the spring when you visit Krymskaya Pond, that you remember how we knelt there, how I whispered in your ear there, when the air is filled with the scent of its cherry trees that you remember what we felt there. . . .
Yours, always, Nickolay
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 2:02 PM UTC
Today, I want to sink my chest into yours.
Your heart pumping blood through my veins for a bit, mine doesn't want to anymore.
Let's trade.
I'll put my brain on ice.
Wash this skull cavity with some minty fresh chemical while my wrinkled pink mother board discovers cryogenics.
When I place it back Into my tingly, almost numb now, chemical washed head
I will still feel heavy.
I want to turn to a whisp.
Like the Night Elves in World of Warcraft.
A floating blue orb of energy
Just a spirit, weightless.
Let me live as electricity, like that spark you felt .
Like that spark they all felt.
Place me in the power lines so I can power houselights and televisions.
Let me be usefull for something again.
Don't convert my head though.
Keep that on Ice.
Better still, creamate
everything but my heart.
Let the ashes get caught
in carpets and drain pipes
Kept in little ziplock baggies,
Tucked in a wooden box,
Kept back seat of my mothers car,
So she can hold it once in awhile.
Until she parks her car in a bad part of town
And a homeless man breaks in
Doesn't steal the gps, or her wallet on the front seat,
But snorts me three hours later
Thinking he just hit the jack ***
That's where I want to be.
In the lungs of some car burglar
Where his addiction should have been,
coughing on my ashes.
He won't get my heart though.
Keep that frozen in a white room.
Smelling of copper, by a tray of tools,
Latex gloves and paper masks.
One day, thaw it out
bring life to someone.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
Thorns in the hearts of millions and fear in the minds of billions.
Heard across the whispers of machines, spoken to the minds of onlookers.
Entrances carved into the souls of children by myriad opinions.
Young ones engraved with a memory, reared to despise terror as one would hookers.
Advance the agenda. Propaganda distributed; phones, theaters, televisions alight.
Losing our souls to the terror, we huddle in our whining and dining rooms.
Lips loose and battering what we don't understand, they're the terrors! Don't you understand?
Destitute is reason in the fanatics worlds away, yet in our very homes.
Encouraged to make poor our own empathy, as we seek them out.
Solace lost on our tongues we devour them, mercy removed from our bones.
Everyone knows we have to get them first, right? Right. There's no other route.
Right is confused with fear. They've made us just like them. Just like them.
Vie for change! Do it all you want, but you can't change them, not with sinful might...
Entrance them with modernity, educate them, sequester them, it's a farce, a problem.
Aren't we the beasts? Shooting missiles from a, "Wicked City," televisions alight.
Grand mess we've made, hypocrisy ten miles high, sin ten miles deep.
Right. Where were we? Who shot last? Compare past to past, continue the fight.
Already we're planning, where to strike next? Whack the hive, make 'em weep.
Vanishing like shadows in all-encompassing light the terrors disappear.
"'Enraging us again,' coming soon!" the sequel should be good next year.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
.
Where will the circus fall,
leaving giraffes homeless,
as pitched tents get pitched
and sideshow freaks
become the norm,
guessing someone’s weight
who doesn’t care
When the sun sets
tablecloth desires
on a silverware runway
with dishes made of gold
and wine glasses half full
are spilled in sad regrets
Will I walk alone
on a cobblestone road,
counting windows without shades
laced with flat screen televisions
tuned to the wrong channel,
reruns in Technicolor
Broadcasting seeded visions
in open fields of tall grass
when Eric Burdon sang
and cherry trees once stood
producing the fruit
of a past I no longer
want to see
Where will the circus fall,
where will I fall
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 7:47 AM UTC
so i took liberty's with my lockpick and freud's diary
and went in search of the reasons for dry thunder
and for pictures of the rain locked away in some peoples eyes
some hearts are waterlogged silent forests
grey clinging to the wet pine needles
some are deserts of the twilight
like dust gathering at the least disturbed path
their hearts are heavy with dry weight
i found her in the cold light of candles
mapping the unknown with her thin hand
her perfections chiseled softly into all of my senses
like a michelangelo paint by number sweet summer dream
her immediate and urgent presence on the night air
makes me breath in deep and feel to the bottom of my feet
that she is tenderness personified
she is light perfected
she is fresh off the pages of some steinbeck novella
she just has a grace that gives
she is in love with its concept and rumor
with lockpick in hand and the image of
old man freud smoking something funny in his pipe
traveled through this place with an eye to the depths
a girl out there provides a sultry version of hopes in a song
from within her place of televisions flickers
as i sit by the window shade as it stirs to life
approaching rain
the lockpick also comes to life
as the complexity's of a strangers smile
fluctuate in the eye
a grain of sand lodged in the crawlspaces of the mind
grinding in the gears of thought
the song drifts to an end
with her smile
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
good old television
or televisions plural because
this shop window has
twenty-two of them
all showing a celebrity
cooking show twenty-two
identical pans containing
the same cuts of chicken
or maybe pork or whitefish
being lightly browned while
no voice can be heard from
the twenty-two tanned faces
smiling out at us and
here the homeless man
watches them all from the
pavement and the rain
good old television
something for everyone
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 5:39 PM UTC
i believe that there lives a counterpart
of me in Spain and in France -
equally critical - not me per se,
but two individuals to compensate
my efforts in England,
Eastern European, hell-bent
to overtax the happy meal and frozen foods
for "the busy lives of 21st century love-e-dub-e's;
a seance of unification might be far away
mind you;
they say they cite the Bible as if it
were an Encyclopaedia -
you reared the African as subhuman,
you think, that other European nations
will succumb to the African systematisation
necessary for integration?
you actually think i'll abandon my
mother tongue to engross myself
in your filthy history and sing god save our queen
like a kindergarten sing-along readying
myself for Oompa-Loompas?
oh i'm sure that's just due to your genetic
makeshift tents on the steppes of Mongolia;
any news from Mongolia? none.
any news from Kazakhstan? none;
except irony... or the great Tao principle:
forget the world and let the world forget you;
i'm not too eager on the Heidegger octopus either
having to be in the world and care for it -
or at least tax my existence with a concern for it.
but of course it's like an inbreeding principle:
little Britain meets the Empire,
Darth Asthmatic... coo khhh... coo khhh...
H vocalised is the best painting
of ancient static in televisions,
motivational ashes lost with digitalisation,
the kaleidoscope of flies and 8-eye spiders
hacking the flight with spider-web geometrics...
prolong the first two letters of the word Khan...
and i'm sure you'll genealogically stress
the origin of Pakistan as being in Mongolia.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC
In a world of concrete
and televisions
there is no room
for love and liberty
only hyperspeed delusions
Screens project illusions
colorful and negative
****** **** war
pure destruction
revolution
Communication boxes
with buttons and blinky lights
musical tones to let you know
that your mother says hello
her voice and face is not enough
Letters are overated
conversations are useless
chivalry is ridiculous
and a smile is anything
but friendly
Neighbors are irritating
too much or too little
of this
that
or the other thing
Knowledge is power
accessible, unclear and confusing
nothing makes any sense
everyone is stupid
but everyone knows everything
Convenience
is inconvenient
never good enough
fast enough
or affordable
There's internet
for computers, tv and cell phones
books in every format
knowledge through every source
but it's all lies, right?
No one knows the truth
no one can believe it
everything is a lie
and everyone is trapped
between televisions and concrete
Nature is forgotten
or locked in fences
near park benches
trimmed and controlled
to particuliarities
Consummables are consumed
without recognition
of the quantity
or lack thereof
until there is nothing left.
Used and abused
people and animals
plants and minerals
oxygen and gas
depleted, destroyed, enslaved
There is no room
for love and liberty
in a world ruled
by delusions
created from concrete and televisions
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 10:39 PM UTC
Cut down the borders
Of your
Mind
Release the enemy who
Resides
Open
Waters bonded Free
Truth in love Flickers
Free
Televisions on and buzzing
Now on to
Souls Crushing
Mental
Bonds direct
Heaven
Inside
will correct their jibes
Come to those who know your
Name
And to those who hate their game.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 5:43 PM UTC
the seconds and hours of life have wistfully aligned and
it is your birthday
and although I wish most sincere it be happy
I myself cannot help but feel terribly, terribly sad
so I am sitting here fourteen minutes past midnight
eating fruit in silence at the tiny desk of my tiny room
trying to sort myself out, trying to snap myself out of it
I know death has no preference of age
the young and the old flee indistinctly alike
but it's been two years since I noted your first bald spot
and a few months ago while we were eating breakfast at the kitchen table,
a flashback of abuelito came to mind while I observed a faint milky layer visibly
taking form around the lens of your charcoal eye
and the other day you forgot to turn off the bathrooms light and it wasn't the first time
and last night you had the televisions volume past fifty all the while sleeping
and those favorite pair of jeans you've worn for years no longer fit you like they used to
and the skin under your chin and arms are starting to stretch
and I can't help but want to cry
because here I am at the tiny desk of my tiny room
while you are sleeping alongside mom two bedrooms away
and this is how it's always been since I was a child
and the days will go by until it is not
and I can't help but want to cry
because you have always been my hero
because up until college you were by my side for every single first day of school
because the first time I had my heart broken by a boy,
you held me in your arms until I felt better
because you know what condiments I do and don't like in my food
because you give me encouraging words without even realizing it
because you never call me stupid,
even when I do stupid things like accidentally locking your keys in your car
because you care enough to take away my internet connection when I'm fucking-up
because you still tell me that I'm pretty even after all these years
because if it weren't for you, I don't know what would be of me
because my love for you is infinite,
but our flesh and bones are not
father, words can go farther than you and I both
and on this tenth of july, I leave such fate in poem
the seconds and hours of life have wistfully aligned and
it is your birthday
and although I wish most sincere it be happy
I myself cannot help but feel terribly, terribly sad
because sixty-five years ago today God gave just one like you
and this world so large, it will never have the feeling that I do
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
The lives we've chosen are leaving us broken
(Do you need your)
Crammed in a corner, don't speak unless spoken to
(Blue screen covers?)
December's coming close to reignite the ghosts
Of elder superstition, mythology becomes religion again!
Marry me, my darling
We've only seconds left to go
I know I'm not the life of the party
But no one here wants to die alone!
Let sleeping dogs lie! You're kicking a
Dead horse!
To arms! To arms! To arms!
Left wing and sou-souwest.
Cheers to the masses for forgetting the past
(Sticks and stones)
Beautifully passive, raising our glasses
(This is our home)
I want to ignite you, that's why I'm spiteful
And loathing your masters, hiding in laughter!
So walk away, you harlot.
Far too tired to give you time
You're not worth the effort I made to hide in
My hope for the world to split
Let sleeping dogs lie! You're kicking a
Dead horse!
To arms! To arms! To arms!
Bury our fears in our outlets.
Last call before we close the door
Just wait until the power's down
Let it be known coast to coast
What we've hidden underground.
Drive a hatchet into your front door,
Inside us all is warrior bone
Burn up all your televisions
Destroy all your telephones!
The future shall not be distorted
No crime shall go unreported
Give it to them as you found it
Without homes, without a sound!
I'll give my words, shut up and listen:
The old ways died and no one missed them,
Don't you see your hallucinogens
Are no excuse for ignorance?
Let sleeping dogs die. You're kicking a
Burnt bridge.
To arms! To arms! To arms!
Behold the 22nd.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 12:39 AM UTC
This world
Is not the world our grandparents lived in
We are less connected with the natural world
Separated by televisions and computers
People who spend their lives online
Distracted by flashy adverstisements
Bombarded by commercials
Telling you why you aren't good enough
Or your life isn't easy enough
And how they can make you look better
Feel better
Be smarter
Have an easier time getting places
And doing things with less effort
We forget that how we look
Feel
And our intelligence
Might just be good enough
For you and the people around you
We need to take a break from all the consumerism
And reconnect with ourselves
And each other
To become human again
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC